


The Bad Sleep Well - 2- The Right

by sharkcar



Series: The Bad Sleep Well [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18918505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkcar/pseuds/sharkcar
Summary: An imagining of the lives of clones after the Clone Wars. Just some simple men, making their ways in the universe, in all their tragicomic glory.





	1. Custody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rebellion is hosting Fenn Rau, but he is not the only one who has a hostage.

Atollon, seventeen years after the war.  
  
Rex scratched his scalp. The air on Atollon was dry and the sunburned top of his head was usually peeling. He knew he really should have worn a hat, or a scarf or something. But Rex had spent most of his life with a helmet on his head, covering his face, framing his vision. Anymore, he found headgear to be too constrictive. Rex supposed he’d changed.  
  
He was off on the edge of the Chopper Base perimeter, trying to repair the broken refresher stall. It wasn’t the most glamorous job in the Rebellion, but it was important. Many a war was lost through bad sanitation, General Kenobi used to say. History always seemed so interesting the way he taught it.  
  
Ezra walked over looking bored, “Hera and Kanan took the Ghost alone for another ‘security sweep’,” he rolled his eyes.  
  
Rex didn’t look up, but blushed a little. The Rebellion reminded him of his days training insurgents on Onderon. A bunch of passionate, charismatic young people risking their lives daily. You couldn’t take a walk into the jungle to take a piss without tripping over Saw Gerrera and some young lady rolling around in the underbrush. The Rebellion offered the same drama. Ahsoka had been there, she knew. Rex suspected that was one reason she’d recruited him. Somebody had to take care of all these kids.  
  
Rex started to grumble about the over taxed septic tanks.  
  
“Don’t look at me, I go outside,” Ezra shrugged, walking away.  
  
“You know, back in the army, we had a protocol about actually burying our latrine pits, though,” Rex hinted unsubtly.  
  
Ezra scratched his neck, “Oh…”  
  
Zeb came strolling over with a sports periodical rolled up under his arm. “So is this thing up and working yet?”  
  
Rex barely looked up from his work, “Not yet.” He knelt over a septic pipe and placed a large wax ring.  
  
In his peripheral vision, Rex could see Zeb’s ears lower with disappointment. Rex waited for a moment, wondering if he should point out that it might go faster if he had some help.  
  
Zeb sat down on a rock and opened the periodical. Ezra was already gone.  
  
Rex sighed and got back to work.  
  
Zeb looked around. “Nice day.”  
  
Rex merely said, “Hmmmm.”  
  
Some days, Rex found it harder to stay positive than others. He was glad his brother Wolffe couldn’t see him like this, he would never have let it go.  
  
Back during the war, Rex had never let anyone look down on him. He had instead challenged people to not respect him. Rex never backed away from a fight. He was had been a commanding officer, with more military experience than practically anyone else he knew, natural born and clone. He knew what he was talking about. Nowadays, it felt like you couldn’t find a person around for parsecs who’d ever heard of the exploits of Captain Rex and the fighting 501st.  
  
Rex was ashamed that that bothered him. He didn’t like being concerned about something so silly as personal glory or rank and ambition. It didn’t fit with how he’d always seen himself. So he forced himself be a model of modesty. He promised himself that he would help fight for those that needed him, without hope of reward.  
  
Since Ahsoka left, he’d started volunteering for any job to help the Rebellion. He was the only one who had experience with things like plumbing, so those were the jobs he was given. It left the exciting work for the kids. It was probably better that way. On Agamar, Rex had had another one of those flashbacks. He could have gotten his team killed and he had to admit it scared him.  
  
Some days Rex looked at the mundane work as a kind of personal penance. He hoped he could make up for some of the grave wrongs his brothers had done. He wanted to help to set things right. All anyone in the galaxy seemed to remember about the Fett clones was that they perpetrated a massacre. No matter that most clones were not specifically involved. No matter that those involved had not done it voluntarily but had been the victims of illegal mind control technology. Most people didn’t care about nuance. Rex thought that if he was hard working and kind, people would remember that instead. He didn’t need fortune and glory maybe, but a little appreciation would have been nice. Some days that was harder than others. He told himself he’d retire again someday. He still had dreams, after all.  
  
Rex groaned as he heaved the heavy porcelain apparatus into place on the wax ring and centered it over the ground pipe.  
  
Zeb looked up from his reading and attempted to make small talk, “Ugh, so…Hera mentioned that you seemed quiet.”  
  
Rex lowered his dark brows and looked at Zeb. It was the face that brothers made to tell a guy to mind their own business.  
  
Zeb laughed nervously, “Hehe, I asked how she could tell, you ask me you’re pretty quiet to begin with.”  
  
Rex exhaled though his nostrils and looked back at his work without speaking. He slid the toilet into alignment.  
  
Zeb was talking too fast, “But you know…if you’re okay, I can tell her you’re fine on a mission. She just worried you’d need some more time.”  
  
“For the five billionth time, I’m fine!” Rex frowned and tried not to betray his feelings. He’d been hoping for gruff, but he realized it came out as a little grouchy. Ahsoka had been gone for months, but everyone was still treating him as if he was fragile. Rex didn’t care for the characterization.  
  
Zeb continued nervously, pivoting his eyes between Rex and the periodical, “Because it’s okay. We’re all getting a little crazy here. It would sure be nice to take a supply run. Maybe eat some civilized food.”  
  
Rex recovered, “Ah. You know the Rebellion is a little strapped for fuel at the moment. It’s better if we learn to adapt when desirable foodstuffs are in short supply. I hunted one of those Krykna spiders, they aren’t bad. They almost remind me of these giant crab legs I had on Mon Cal. The restaurants on Coruscant used to have domesticated crab legs with butter sauce,” Rex wrapped the end of a piece of pipe with threading tape.  
  
Zeb raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice, “Do you know where I can get any butter?”  
  
“Of course not,” Rex laughed as if it was a joke.  
  
Zeb shrugged and picked up a dokma off the ground, pried it out of the shell with one claw and scarfed it. He’d stopped feeling sorry for them once he’d gotten hungry enough. His species had higher caloric needs than smaller humanoids, but he took the same rations as anyone else. Rex liked Zeb. As a professional warrior like himself, Zeb knew how to sacrifice.  
  
Zeb offered Rex a dokma, so Rex set down the pipe to take a break. He washed his hands with some water from his canteen and a little of the soap Ahsoka had given him. He rinsed head, hands, the back of his neck, and his face in a quick ritual made repetitive through practice. He had learned it in the academy as protocol for reducing chances of contracting disease in the field. He sat down finally and touched an akul tooth amulet to his forehead. Rex’s brother Wolffe had made up a custom that before he would eat, he would make sure to remember someone who could eat no longer. Rex had found Ahsoka’s old headdress in the crate, so he’d removed the central tooth and used the string of beads to form a pendant. He wore it tucked under his armor, as was clone custom for good luck amulets.  
  
Rex picked up the mollusk and used a welding torch to grill the dokma instantly in the shell, then split it with his joopa fileting knife. He took a bottle out of his belt and shook a dash of the hot sauce onto the meat. He then pulled the flesh out of the spiral shell with his old kit fork. Rex nodded at his handiwork. Perfectly tender, he smiled to himself.  
  
“Still not as good as that joopa you guys had. You think Gregor and that weird one-eyed one might have some of that to spare,” Zeb was on his second dokma, still clawing bits out of the shell.  
  
“Eh. Wolffe’s already mad at me. If I had to tell him Ahsoka’s gone, I don’t think he’d take it well,” Rex considered another forkful for a moment. “Still, it would be nice to eat something else. Maybe I’ll take a bottle up to share with Fenn Rau on the prison ship, see if he needs any messages relayed.”  
  
“You keep going to visit him. I can’t see how that’s relaxing. Mandalorians are so…ornery,” Zeb scratched out and scarfed another dokma. "I can't imagine their food is any good."  
  
“It's not, really. I do it as a favor to Rau. Cabur Rau used to train us clones back in the academy when we were kids, so he’s kind of an old acquaintance. Just because he’s our prisoner doesn’t mean we have to treat him like he’s an enemy.”  
  
It must have seemed strange, Rex knew. Protector Rau was in his forties, while Rex, at 27 years of age, looked like an old man compared. But Rau had helped train Rex and his brothers when they were kids, and later fought in the war for the Republic alongside Rex’s family. Rau’s clan was even the one that Rex’s father belonged to at one time. Rex always had to be careful about revealing too much about such personal affiliations. Clone loyalty was often considered suspect, especially since Order 66. He didn’t want the Rebellion to think he was conflicted.  
  
“Rau chose me to relay messages for him back to his people, until we work out the details of his…uh…disagreement with us. He said he thought I’d be neutral. I am authorized by Commander Sato to relay any messages to reassure them of his whereabouts. Of course I don’t give them any intelligence without first discussing it with the Commander.” Rex was kind of aggravated that he felt the need to explain himself, but somehow he felt accused.  
  
“Ezra says he sensed there is something more personal to it,” Zeb sounded like he was teasing a little, “You got a lady friend or something? Kanan was cagey, but Ezra says he thinks that’s what it is.”  
  
Rex shrugged, being intentionally evasive. Jedi could read feelings, it was a standard power that light side wielders possessed. But as for what those feelings meant, it wasn’t an exact science. His thoughts had been dwelling on family.  
  
\--  
  
The next day, Rex caught a ride with a supply ship up to the orbiting CR-90 where Rau was held. The rebels had moved their ‘guest’ to an off world brig because he kept attempting to escape when they had him on Atollon. He was costing them a lot in property damage, so this seemed the best solution.  
  
Rex had always visited Rau in prison. He had respect for what Fenn Rau represented. Respect was difficult for clones to express, it skirted painfully close to being mistaken for subservience.  
  
The rebel guards remained just outside the cell, fully able to hear what was discussed. Rex saluted them as he entered the cell. He found Rau swatting a bug with the book he’d lent him.  
  
“How do they even get in here?” Rau managed to sound bored while destroying life forms.  
  
“These old ships can get some infestations.“ Rex said, matter of factly. “But I figure, bugs are far preferable to a dianoga or Geonosian mind worm. I’ll see if I can maybe get you a pet spider to take care of those for you.”  
  
Rau brushed the bug off of the cover and set the book down on the bed. He remained standing, but Rex sat down in one of the chairs. Rex laid his counterfeit identification chip and a datapad on the table, facing Rau.  
  
Rau put the chip in the drive and sighed as he read the ridiculous alias, Axel Hood. He then used the stylus to sign a letter of transit. “I will write you a visa for two rotations. You can tell them to keep broadcasting the all clear to your Rebellion.”  
  
Rex would go to Rau’s world, Concord Dawn. They would allow him on to the planet to visit. Mandalorians didn’t admit many outsiders to their worlds. But Rau had told the Rebellion that he trusted Rex as the envoy. Rex knew why and it had nothing to do with trust. Rau had a hostage, too.  
  
\--  
  
Three days later, Rex was able to hitch a ride with the Ghost to a planet with a station for public transport. Hera didn’t ask any questions, but she seemed to be looking at Rex like he was cute. Rex was sure Ezra had told her about this supposed girlfriend. Rex didn’t care for the characterization. He wasn’t cute.  
  
From the spaceport, Rex booked a transit ticket for the Mandalore sector. At the first stop, he hitched a ride with a smuggler. In exchange for transport, he acted as a guide. Everybody in those days was looking to avoid Imperial entanglements. Rex had more than enough requisite experience to evade the Military and he didn’t ask questions.  
  
He then made his way by light transport to the main spaceport on the planet of Concord Dawn. Security personnel interviewed him in the port. He passed on Rau’s messages and they then waved him through the checkpoint with his pass. The security sent the messages on to the Protectors’ outer base on the third moon.  
  
Through customs, Rex went to the cleanest looking cantina the spaceport offered. He found a public transmitter and send a brief message to his contact.  
  
A few hours later, she came through the port of the cantina, a silhouette clothed in the sun. The portal shut behind her and she scanned the room.  
  
Rex waved and stood. She hastened to him, swung her arms around his neck, and crushed him to her. “Uncle.”  
  
\--  
  
Rex took his girl out to have a meal at the only restaurant in town.  
  
Alis rummaged her bag, “As requested, two kilos of bantha butter from the farm. Who is eating kilos of butter?”  
  
Rex didn't dare admit why he wanted it. Zeb got gassy when he ate dairy products. Zeb's roommate Ezra shouldn't have disrespected him on the Reklam station mission. "I’m sure my friend will appreciate it. So how is everything going? Training going well?” Rex asked.  
  
His ‘niece’ Alis shrugged. The way she did it made Rex smile, wishing he got to see his girl more often.  
  
She wasn’t, strictly speaking, HIS girl. She didn’t belong to him in any sense. What Rex and the girl had was more familial. Rex had been in love with her mother, so it wouldn’t have felt right to feel that way about her child. But sometimes she did make his heart ache. Mostly through things she couldn’t help or didn’t notice. Like the way she’d stand, or a face she’d make. Or the things she found funny. They reminded Rex a time he liked to remember and a version of himself that made him happy.  
  
“My shooting scores are terrible. The trainers keep telling me I’m too easily distracted. I guess I have a hard time filtering stuff out,” Alis was one of the cadet trainees in House Rau’s army. When she was old enough, she was expected to fight for her clan, even though she was just an adopted member, “That was why I didn’t make pilot training.”  
  
“Eh, anyone can fly a ship, sweetie,” Rex sprinkled hot sauce on the fried insects. “I can give you some pointers, I’m sure. How are things otherwise?”  
  
“I dunno. Everyone is talking like they’re a little afraid. Most of us kids say it’s just old people being paranoid. But we kind of wonder if we’re gonna get called up to serve soon,” Alis borrowed the hot sauce and put it on her sandwich. “Can you believe it, though? Some of these hut’tuune actually don’t want to fight!”  
  
Alis was young and full of courage. Just like her mother had been when Rex had known her.  
  
Rex scratched the back of his neck, “Are you sure that’s what you want, Alis? It’s not an easy life, soldiering. I don’t mean to cause you to doubt yourself, I’m just asking you if you are doing this for yourself or because you have to?”  
  
Alis shook her head. “Those can be the same thing.”  
  
Rex remembered a time he’d told his brother Cut that.  
  
“Look, Uncle, I’ve given it a lot of thought. I feel like I was lucky, you know? I was just another ward of the Empire. I could have died in that labor colony. But the Protectors saved me. I think it’s an honor to return the favor. They’ve raised me like I was family,” she touched her hand to her chest. “It’s my home.”  
  
The inside of Rex’s chest felt a spreading scald. He couldn’t have known where Alis had been all those years when she didn’t have anyone. But he also couldn’t help feeling like he should have been there to do something. He hadn’t known. When her mother had married Alis’ father, Rex had walked away. It had seemed like the only honorable thing to do. When her mom was arrested, her father had surrendered custody to the state and she was sent to a textile sweatshop.  
  
Oh well, thought Rex, he was there now, “I’m really proud of you.”  
  
They took their time eating. They were just telling each other stories and laughing.  
  
At first Rex had felt self-conscious meeting her so publicly. Some of the other people always stared at him, but he guessed they did with all strangers. He realized how it looked. It was apparent they weren’t related, at least by Mandalorian standards. She was way too young for him. But neither one of them ever seemed to get bored of the other one.  
  
Rex had considered a few times asking Rau to share guardianship, but at best Rex was the descendant of an exiled Mando, Rex knew the law was not on his side from their point of view. He had imagined a few times that if Alis had ever indicated there was any kind of abuse, he would have taken her away without so much as a by your leave. But as far as he could tell, she was happy there. She was growing up on the farm of a Clan Leader. She was being educated. She could look forward to an honorable career. And marry someone respectable. Produce heirs. Be a fighter for the glory of the House. If she had told Rex any of that made her dissatisfied, he would not have hesitated to help her, but he had to admit he didn’t have much of an alternative to offer. He was involved in an illegal insurgence against the Galactic Empire. She was safer with her guardians. Rex believed that, but not without an undercurrent of remorse.  
  
After lunch, they took a walk around the village. Alis invited him to go out to the pistol range, so Rex figured it would be a nice quality time activity.  
  
Rex set up the program and the target bots moved down range. He and Alis unholstered pistols and checked that the safeties were on. It made Rex smile.  
  
Alis was unconsciously imitating him in the way she cocked her head to check her weapon, frowning seriously, “My trainers say I need to work on my aiming. They say it’s inconsistent, so my technique is fine, but I can’t focus.”  
  
Rex raised his weapons and extended his arms. She imitated his stance.  
  
Rex took a deep breath, “Don’t be so concerned. Stop thinking about how to aim a blaster better. Utilize a weapon not as a separate apparatus, but as an extension of arms. Everything, the gun, your hand, your eye, the target, all is connected like veins. But unseen, like how the sounds reverberating through the air move the hairs in your ears.” Rex closed his eyes and began firing. “See the target in your mind. Hold your hands steady. Concentrate on where you want to hit.”  
  
Alis looked down the range at the target. Hers was a halfway decent cluster. His was a perfect star drawn over the chest of the target with singe holes. All these years his hands were steady as ever.  
  
“I did that trick for your mother once,” Rex looked down at the pistols and put the safeties on. Alis checked the safeties on her weapons then nodded slightly.  
  
Rex went to the panel to set the program for the next round. He tried to hide that he was walking with a limp. Some of the jobs the Rebellion had him doing were hazardous. But to refuse made him feel weak. Alis looked concerned.  
  
\--  
  
They went back to town so Alis could catch the last public conveyance back to her valley. The drank caf at the station, side by side on a bench.  
  
“I…uh…guess I don’t know when I will see you again. It's getting dangerous to travel,” Rex scratched the back of his neck. He discovered the knot for his amulet string and found himself compelled to untie it. “I wanted you to have this.” He handed her the akul tooth, suspended on a string with beads. He patted her on the shoulder. “Um…the..ah…Force will be with you….always.”  
  
Alis looked down into her beverage and gripped the ornament tightly. Emotional displays were un-Mandalorian, so she didn’t make a thing out of it. Suddenly, she looked down and spoke more quietly.  
  
“Uncle, have you ever been able to find anything else about where my mother might be? I know there are billions of names in those prison rolls, but did you ever hear anything?”  
  
“Of course I’ve been looking for your mother. My friend and I have a few leads we’re going to follow,” Rex scratched the back of his neck again. His and Kanan’s investigations had been slow going. Fuel wasn’t free and the Rebellion had suffered some losses. They didn’t have much time to spare for personal things.  
  
“Uncle, my family here won’t look for her because she is not Mando. But she’s my family. You and I are the only ones that she’s got left,” Alis took on a joking tone, “Imagine if you found her, they’d have to let her keep me. We could all go live somewhere together. Or we could travel the galaxy having adventures,” she laughed a little.  
  
Rex saluted, “I’ll redouble my efforts, sweetie.”  
  
That night, Rex was able to join a food trader who was headed for Lothal. There he stowed away on a cargo freighter for Oon. Then he abandoned ship in an escape pod over Atollon and piloted it down to Chopper Base.  
  
He climbed out of the escape pod on the surface and headed in to his room to catch a quick nap. Ezra came in half an hour later and told him that the new pilots had overloaded the septic system with paper so the toilet had backed up again.  
  
\--  
  
Rex was called to brief Sato for the rest of the afternoon. The next night he caught the supply ship into orbit and made his way to Fenn Rau’s cell. He passed along the message from the other Protectors. They mentioned nothing of the perceived threat Alis was talking about. Rex didn’t doubt her, though. He was curious why the Protectors were keeping it from Rau.  
  
Rex had a ceramic jug of his latest distillate, so Rau took out a pair of drinking bowls.  
  
“Did you enjoy the book?” Rex could see it next to the brig toilet.  
  
“Your taste in literature is still like some kind of school boy,” Rau poured the beverages.  
  
Rex sampled a sip. “Who doesn’t like a good adventure?”  
  
Rau sniffed the liquor and winced. But he took a sip. Rau didn’t look like a guy who did things for thrills.  
  
\--  
  
A few months later, Rex went over to see Hera at the Ghost to ask if he could help bring supplies to the orbiting ships. “Captain Syndulla, I was hoping to ride with you today,” Rex scratched the back of his head. He had been hoping to catch a word with Rau.  
  
Hera’s eyebrows raised, “You didn’t know?” She took Rex’s hands in hers, piteously. “They’re gone, Rex. The Protectors. All of them. Their base on the third moon was wiped out by someone called Gar Saxon. Rau, Ezra and Sabine just got back.”  
  
Rex couldn’t hear the rest. His ears started ringing, as if he had heard an explosion without his helmet on. Rex exhaled. Then he nodded, turned and walked away. His friend’s stare felt like it burned holes in the back of his neck. He didn’t want her pity. He wasn’t pitiful.  
  
Cabur Rau came back from the third moon of Concord Dawn reporting that all of his senior leaders had been slain. He, Ezra and Sabine had barely escaped from Gar Saxon’s forces.  
  
When Saxon was installed as Imperial Governor of Mandalore Sector by the Galactic Empire, he vowed to use the old conquer and replace tactic to deal with unallied worlds. The tactic was as simple as it was ancient. Take no prisoners, give the planet as the spoils of war to his own people.  
  
Rau was headed out to his House’s rallying point, their secret base that they knew survivors could flee to regroup.  
  
Rex didn’t have to say a word, when Rau saw him.  
  
“If she’s there, I’ll find her. We’ll send word. I promise,” Rau’s voice sounded genuinely concerned.  
  
Rex knew that even if Rau found her, he wouldn’t send Alis. She was expected to stay with the clan. She wasn’t his, after all. Rex just hoped for some correspondence, to know she was safe. All he was able to do was to stubbornly hold out hope that he’d see her again.


	2. Sovereignty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in his life, Niner gets a promotion.

Krant System- Seventeen years after the war  
  
The bridge crew and Stormtroopers of the Imperial Freighter Meebur Gascon were kneeling on the bridge with their hands behind their heads. The unmasked imposters, the pirates in Stormtrooper armor, marched through the ranks menacingly, weapons drawn. The prisoners stayed down.  
  
Commander Cody paced slowly in front of them, rifle at his shoulder. The Imperials obviously knew WHAT he was. Fett clones were used to the particular look of scorn from the natural born. Most Imperial officers were from, or at least educated in, the Inner Core, where racial slurs for Fett clones were still popular among the youth as insults. The meaning varied between ‘gross’ or ‘stupid’, but could sometimes be meant to imply ‘sexually pathetic’. It depended on the context.  
  
Still, Niner the Navy clone couldn’t help being a little surprised that none of them seemed to know WHO Cody was. But the crew was mostly young. When the Clone War ended, these officers were still in prep school. They wouldn’t have paid attention to those live broadcasts from the Senate tribunals after Jedi Purge. That was stuff their parents discussed at cocktail parties.  
  
These kids were unaware that there used to be a time when Commander Cody was an infamous object of horror. Most guys who worked directly for the Emperor in the early administration were chosen because they were scary. Cody was known to the general public as the first clone to murder a Jedi. Or at least, he’d ordered it. Cody told the Senate it was because he’d refused to follow the Jedi’s orders to help with an illegal coup of the Republic. Nobody who had ever seen or heard of Obi-Wan Kenobi ever believed that, but Cody swore under oath that he had authorized the Jedi Purge. Every brother who got Order 66, and that was nearly all of clone kind, knew better. They also knew not to contradict Cody’s word. Brothers did as he told. He was that scary.  
  
Niner thought he seemed to have mellowed with age.  
  
Cody finally addressed the captured officers and Stormtroopers, “Crew of the Freighter Meebur Gascon! This is a raid! We are commandeering this vessel and its cargo in the name of Democratic Queendom of Abrion!  
  
Niner thought that sounded silly and made up.  
  
The lieutenant sputtered, “The what?”  
  
The captain was undaunted, “Why the Dorn-Qek-Aurek are terrorists! Your holo-net propaganda calls for death to the Empire! You’re going to kill us all!”  
  
Cody muttered to himself, “I don’t know who writes that stuff.” He addressed the crowd again, “Contrary to what you might have heard about us, we will not harm you if you cooperate. Defy us, and perish in the most creative way we can think of.”  
  
The lieutenant looked like he might piss himself, “What does that mean?”  
  
Some laughs were heard from the clones in Cody’s crew. Thinking creatively was a selling point for his people, Niner remembered, smirking. It was actually in the Kaminoan marketing literature.  
  
Cody ignored the lieutenant and went on, “Those that want to return to the Empire, we will leave you in escape pods with a means to send a distress signal. You will get help, but we, and your ship, will be gone. Think of your families. They want you to return.”  
  
“I’ll never give the ship over to you,” the captain spat.  
  
The rest of the bridge crew looked at him. He definitely wasn’t speaking for all of them.  
  
Cody switched his rifle to the other shoulder. “And Captain, I want you to take a message for me, since you’re so talkative.”  
  
“The Empire does not have time for every little upstart warlord,” the captain had affected a tone that clones used to call the ‘do you know who my father is?’ “This ship and its cargo are property of his Imperial Highness. Moff Pi-ying will not stand for this! You will be hunted down like massifs. You’d better let us go and I will go plead with him for leniency. If you surren…”  
  
Cody cut him off, “You were parsecs off course engaged in misconduct.”  
  
The color drained from the captain’s face. The lieutenant looked like he might cry.  
  
Cody went on, “Now, the message I want you to take for me, to Moff Peeing or whoever, as far up in the chain of command as you can get to listen to you. The Abrion Sector is under new management. No further Imperial oversight is required. We will look after our own affairs and make our own alliances. In addition, we would like to send an official delegation to the Galactic Senate and give our representative a chance to speak about our right to self-sovereignty.”  
  
“Are you mad? I’d be laughed right into a mental institution saying things like that,” the captain spat a little when he talked.  
  
Cody smirked and shook his head slowly. He turned to face the prisoners, “Soldiers and crew, I’m also going to make an offer. A one-time deal for anyone here who would like to leave the Empire. If you would, you must decide now. We cannot come back for anything or anyone. We can offer transport somewhere else and help getting resettled.”  
  
“To where?” one bridge officer asked, scoffing.  
  
“Not Lahsbane,” Fiver countered. Some other Stormtroopers chuckled nervously.  
  
Cody almost smiled, “No, not Lahsbane. And not some work camp on a swamp planet. And not some prison mine. And not the slave markets. Really, what have you got to lose?”  
  
Most of the Stormtroopers took them up on their offer.  
  
\--  
  
When the Gascon’s crew returned to Imperial space to complain about the outrage, Moff Pi-ying dressed down the captain for losing Imperial assets. He was reluctant to give an inept captain a new commission, he said, but the captain’s father was an admiral. So the Moff told one of his assistants to give the captain a new ship once another hunk of junk became available to make the same run. More troops for Lahsbane would arrive in the coming weeks. The gears had to keep turning.  
  
As for the captain’s complaint about the Dorn-Qek-Aurek, the Moff just added it to the pile of complaint files about little upstart warlords on his other assistant’s desk and went to spend his evening in a spice den with the wife of his chief of staff. It wasn’t until the next morning that the captain complained to his father and his father complained to Grand Moff Tarkin about how his son had been treated. By midday, Pi-ying woke up to an angry hologram of Tarkin’s head in his bedroom. By afternoon, the captain had been transferred back to the Core and the lieutenant was promoted to captain to take over the Lahsbane run.  
  
\--  
  
Kothlis  
  
Cody’s crew made a stop at a large spaceport sitting on an island in the vast oceans of Kothlis. The Imperial freighter wasn’t out of place in the heavy traffic, everyone simply paid the landing fee to what passed for authorities and went to the surface to conduct their own business. The Bothan sector was neutral, so the Bothans made good money by not asking questions of either side. A perfect place for criminal enterprise. It was vaguely alluded to in the tourism campaign for the planet.  
  
The two ships pulled in to a covered hangar. Inside, several clones with tattooed faces and a few furry Bothan females were running the shipyard. They gathered to greet the crew. All the people de-boarded and a fleet of droids set to work changing the identification on the freighter.  
  
Cody’s crew began changing out of their Stormtrooper armor, so the newly liberated Stormtroopers did the same. Niner didn’t have anything to change into, so he was just standing with the four brothers who had just defected with him. Niner felt awkward standing out in his Imperial cloth uniform, so he averted his eyes politely.  
  
Niner faced the hangar port, which was letting in bright sun. Suddenly he sneezed.  
  
“This fish has been living in the can for too long,” Fiver tossed a greve over his shoulder.  
  
Another of the four Stormtrooper brothers punched Niner on the arm, “I noticed he was starting to smell.”  
  
Niner hated being the only Navy brother, army guys could be bullies. Especially the younger ones.  
  
An EV droid approached Niner, “Sir, we would like to know if there are any new tech or hidden transmitters that will track the ship.”  
  
“None that I know of,” Niner scratched the back of his head. “It’s kind of old, not worth much security.”  
  
“Would you please check this work order and sign approval for the repairs,” the droid handed Niner a datapad.  
  
“Uh…sure. But why?” Niner asked.  
  
“Cody says you’re captain now,” a familiar brother’s voice said and a hand slapped Niner on the back.  
  
“Wirey! What are you doing here?” Niner and his brother slapped hands.  
  
“I’m the captain of the old Sweitt Concorkill,” Wirey indicated the toadlet garbage float. Wirey had been an old classmate of Niner’s from the Tipoca Naval Academy.  
  
Niner slapped him on the back, “Let’s have a drink, we’ll catch up. I’m buying. Apparently I just got a promotion for the first time in my life.” All four of the Stormtrooper brothers filed in to follow Niner at the prospect of free drinks.  
  
There was a cantina across from the hangar, with tables in front on the edge of the water and large glass doors that could be opened or closed depending on the weather. The glass doors had been folded up so Niner could see the holo-viewers inside while sitting at an outdoor table. He and the others found places to sit. They watched as the natural born Stormtroopers were led in and directed to form a line at a large table inside.  
  
“So, Captain Niner? Sure better than a medal, isn’t it, for showing gratitude?” Wirey waved at Cody.  
  
Cody and a Weequay female were at the inside table handing out round, flat tins to the defected Stormtroopers from the Meebur Gascon.  
  
“What are they doing,” Niner asked, flicking his head in Cody’s direction. He indicated a round of drinks to the passing droid.  
  
Wirey pulled a similar tin out of his belt and put it on the table, “He’s handing out portions of our spice to the refugees, so they can go where they want to go. Cody had the idea to package the product from our mines in tins with his queen’s picture on them.”  
  
Spice was popular as a drug everywhere in the galaxy for recreational use. In the Empire, only the government was legally permitted to sell it, so the price remained high due to taxes. Illicit spice was heavily trafficked, but the purity was unpredictable. Nevertheless, the substance was convenient as hard currency since it was consistently valued everywhere. Especially in the Outer Rim, where there wasn’t much in the way of government to back up the money. Smaller economies were unpredictable. Most colonial factories and industries paid their people in chits that could only be used at the company stores.  
  
Niner looked at the tin. The lid had been stamped with the unit of measure, a percentage of purity, and a profile of a human woman. The motto above the head read, “Concordia.”  
  
Fiver picked it up to look, “Wait so the crew does work for a monarch? Like mercenaries?”  
  
Wirey opened the tin and packed a pipe and smiled wryly, “Not exactly. It's more of a family enterprise.”  
  
“Does he do this a lot?” Fiver asked, “He’s rich enough to just give away money?”  
  
Wirey helped the droid unload drinks from his tray, “We give each enough to book decent passage from here. Where they go is up to them. We’re not kidnappers.” He pointed at the tin on the table, “We also give these out as donations to worlds in our sector to develop things like infrastructure or food production, or to clean up pollution. We don’t even ask for the money back.”  
  
Fiver squinted, “Just to be nice?”  
  
Niner sipped his drink, “No, you idiot, to get respect.”  
  
Wirey elaborated, “We use the things we pay for to advertise our technically illegal organization. Having friends makes us safer. These worlds have been contacting us directly to ask us to join our little ‘queendom’ if they could depend on more ‘goodwill’.” The quotation marks were demonstrated through emphasis.  
  
Niner scratched his head, “Well, how come I’ve never heard of this?”  
  
Wirey held up his glass, “Why would the Empire want you to know there was a better place to be?”  
  
Niner looked at his drink, “I thought the Empire controlled everything.” Just like they’d wanted him to.  
  
Ohnaka came forward to Cody’s table with several Imperial pistols tucked into every strap and pocket of his clothing. “You know next time you can be the bait and I’ll play the bounty hunter.”  
  
“I don’t trust you to stick to the plan,” Cody handed Ohnaka a generous stack of spice tins.  
  
Ohnaka nodded, packing them into a belt satchel. “Probably wise. No hard feelings on the insults, uh? Admit it, some of them were actually good!” he laughed nervously.  
  
Cody didn’t look amused.  
  
Ohnaka tsked a few times, “I swear you are the most humorless clone I have ever met!”  
  
The Weequay female was giving him the death stare, “I hate you, you puppy smacking piece of poodoo. Leave.” She showed her teeth, which were filed into points.  
  
“Good as gone,” Ohnaka headed to another tavern down the waterfront and began squealing with a table full of Ugnaughts.  
  
On the holo-viewers behind Cody, a hologram news announcer affected body language that was meant to convey seriousness. It spoke in a voice program to match. “Atrocities in the Mid-Rim, a military transport was attacked two days ago on its way to supply peacekeepers on Lahsbane. A ship’s crew, led by Captain Oin Kilian, was kidnapped and barely escaped with their lives. An entire battalion of Stormtroopers was taken captive and are presumed dead.”  
  
Everybody in the cantina cheered and laughed. The very much alive Stormtroopers booed and hissed at the sight of Captain Kilian at a podium, freshly shaven with a new haircut and tailored uniform. Niner made rude noises.  
  
“These hijackers identified themselves as Abrion Separatists,” the captain said importantly. “These terrorists have become a menace to the Empire. They were brazen enough to ask for legitimate recognition by the Senate. These outlaws must be dealt with. I have just been appointed to head a task force to deal with this threat to galactic security.”  
  
“When will you be leaving for the Outer Rim?” a journalist asked.  
  
“Oh no, I am heading a task force. I will make decisions on whom to send,” the captain cleaned lint off of his shoulder, “We have a broad mandate.”  
  
Niner laughed. Anyone who’d worked for the Empire knew that was bureaucratese for ‘little over sight over their budget’.  
  
Cody sipped his glass of water, “This should be good fun.”  
  
\--  
  
The Stormtroopers were sent on their ways and the crew of the Concorkill split up to man both ships. There wasn’t much for Niner to do, everyone seemed to know the protocol. All clones had been trained for the same military, a lot of things were second nature. He just stood back and watched.  
  
Cody’s men were mostly clones, though Niner had spotted several natural born sentients of various species. They were mostly women. Wirey said membership in their enterprise was automatically extended to clones and women or male partners of clones, if they went that way. Wirey had shown them holostills of his wife and step-son.  
  
What surprised Niner was how young all the brothers looked. Niner was old for a clone, part of the first cloning round. But even the guys who were Niner’s age, like Wirey or Cody, looked healthier than any brother had business looking at their age. Cody had a damned full head of hair. Evidently living free of the Empire was good for people.  
  
When everything was packed up and ready to go, Captain Niner was standing on the bridge of his, HIS, freighter. He came over to the console to watch as the communications officer sitting at his old console received the new coordinates. Even though the screen was blurry, Niner would recognize the digits anywhere. He couldn’t help but smile.  
  
Rish System  
  
The two ships jumped into hyperspace, hours later emerging in sight of a blue-green planet with a heavily cratered moon. Artificial satellites could be seen glinting above the atmosphere in the light from the system’s star. Niner had seen similar shield nets used by the Separatists over worlds like Iago during the war.  
  
As the ships descended to the surface, some older fighters joined them in the atmosphere to give them an escort. Fiver and the four Stormtroopers were standing on the bridge, waving at the pilots of the fighters.  
  
The four had started following Niner like a little entourage. Niner thought they were sticking close because they didn’t want to hazard a voyage on the Garbage Float.  
  
Fiver pointed at the system’s star in the distance. “What is that?”  
  
“Rish, the winter star,” Niner recited automatically, the name in Basic with the Kaminoan epithet. Kaminoan cloners had eyes that could see light through clouds, or at least senses that allowed them to be aware. They knew such things as stars existed. But the cloned human beings growing up in the Tipoca Military Academy on rain drenched Kamino had to take their creators’ words for it. For their first ten years of life, none had ever been able to see anything above them but clouds, and rain falling, and lightning. As part of their education, clones were taught about other star systems. They were given charts of the star systems to memorize coordinates and to learn navigation. For all they knew, ‘The Galaxy’ was mythological. But any clone child who’d had a navigation class knew that Rish was the nearest and brightest star outside of their own system. Since they had been able to see Rish from time immemorial, the Kaminoans still used their pre-space travel term for it interchangeably. Rish rose in the winter and was only visible half the year on each hemisphere during respective winters, hence the name.  
  
After they entered the atmosphere, the fighters led the ships into a mountain range. They slowly navigated into a canyon with a river flowing rapidly below. They then turned into a large bay cut into the side of the gigantic cliff on one side. Hanging on the top of the cliff was a steel fortress. Ray shield generators dotted the crenellations.  
  
Niner gazed at the view our of the hangar port of the wall of the canyon across from them. Strange reptilian bird species swooped from perch to perch.  
  
Fiver looked at him in askance.  
  
“Rishi,” Niner gazed around and shook his head looking around at the strangely colorful plants and mushrooms. He had never guessed it was like this. “This is the planet, I guess. I’ve only seen it from space. I still remember the first time I saw Rish for real, when we left for Geonosis,” Niner said, almost wistfully to his entourage.  
  
Cody and the others were busy unloading cargo. Cody looked up when Niner had mentioned Geonosis, “You were in the First Battle?”  
  
“Oh, sir, yes, sir, but I never went further than orbiting the planet, as usual. We shot down a Trade Federation ship, though. I still have the medal. It was after that that I went to General Piell’s flagship.”  
  
“Are you the guys who let Dooku get away?” An older clone who’d gone a little round in the middle spoke up. He was apparently the brother who had taken it upon himself to follow Cody around the way those five brothers were still doing with Niner.  
  
The Weequay female with the filed teeth looked fed up, “I am sick to death of all these made up beefs you deigs have over who did what when that cost you this battle or that. Like you are all so insecure that you have to try to rank each other against each other so you can say why you’re better than this or that guy.”  
  
Niner didn’t know what was going on there.  
  
The chubby clone, Blue, frowned, “How else would we know?”  
  
“I agree with her, that stuff’s counter-productive,” Cody checked the contents of a crate. Easy for Cody to say, he’d always been an alpha. “Besides, if General Yoda couldn’t capture that guy on Geonosis, how was anyone else going to?”  
  
“Were you on Geonosis?” Niner asked Cody politely, falling in to help with the unloading. His entourage followed suit.  
  
“Not the First Battle,” Cody seemed to leave it at that.  
  
“Nah, but he was strategic commander on the second campaign. That one was the crusher. I was on that one with General Mundi. We had these flame throwers and we were…..” Blue was about to get started.  
  
Cody cleared his throat, “I don’t know if I want to relive Point Rain at the moment, brother.” He patted Blue on the shoulder.  
  
Niner was familiar with the campaign. It had started with landing under heavy fire and ended with zombie bugs and mind worms.  
  
Cody changed the subject back to the world at hand, “I shipped out right after you then, Niner, on board the Negotiator. I’ll never forget it, the navigations guy turned the ship to face Rish for the first time. Commander Wolffe and I were on the bridge just staring out as we crossed the cloud line, then seeing the surface of Kamino shrink below us and this vast expanse of the galaxy in front. I remember, just as the ship orbited the planet to align with Rish, Kamino’s own sun came around the planet below us, and then the sun engulfed everything in the sky, Kamino, Rish, the galaxy beyond. Then we pulled off into hyperspace and everything was streaks of blue.”  
  
“I bet you were like just…,” a younger clone with a tattooed face put on an expression that meant ‘seeing something amazing’. Usually clones used it when telling stories of brothers the first time they saw a girl naked.  
  
Cody shook his head, “Nah,” he started laughing, “I got dizzy from the artificial gravity and ran to the refresher to throw up.”  
  
Everyone laughed about that.  
  
A young Twi’lek female led in a group of some more of those younger brothers with heavy tattoos. There were also a crew of CLL-8 Prison Battle Droids painted with different cartoon animals.  
  
Cody walked up to her and gestured for Niner, Fiver and the other brothers to follow. “Sotna, this here’s my brother, Niner. He’s in charge of the new ship. You can tell him what he needs to do to put a crew together,” he looked at Niner, “You’re all set to get started right away, right?”  
  
Sotna looked mischievous, “You have so many forms to fill out.”  
  
Cody was looking towards the lifts, “I have to go check in at the office. Victory pinged me three ticks ago about something in the Mandalore Sector. Maybe you could let Niner and the new guys know how things function. Bring them over for dinner later.”  
  
Sotna tossed a lek over her shoulder and frowned at Cody, “Fine, you go home leaving everybody else to do the work.”  
  
“I have to try to get a minute of the queen’s time,” Cody was already backing away.  
  
“Don’t tell me about your personal life!” Sotna laughed, “I’ll just take care of this as usual with no help from you, how ‘bout that.”  
  
Cody and Blue began walking quickly towards the portal to the lift, “That’s why you’re the best. I will owe you a favor.”  
  
“I will call that in,” Sotna waved her datapad at them.  
  
Cody spoke into a comlink, “Vic, I’m on my way up. Oh, if you intelligence guys could give security clearance for the five new brothers we just got in, I’d appreciate it. I want their paperwork in the system as soon as possible, they are badly in need of some medical attention as far as I can tell,” he turned and gestured at Sotna. She knew it meant to take the new guys over to the hospital. She gestured that she understood.  
  
Niner scratched the back of his head, “Do we look that bad?”  
  
Sotna typed a few things into her datapad. She went along counting the cargo and verifying it with a retinal scan. Evidently she was some kind of administrator, “It’s standard procedure, to get you set up with the paperwork for medical exams, accommodations, rations, since you’re gonna be with us.”  
  
“All that?” Fiver asked.  
  
“Why is that important? Paperwork?” Fiver asked.  
  
“This brother is downright organized,” another Stormtrooper brother in the group observed. “Sign me up.”  
  
“Get these into the arsenal,” Sotna handed off the datapad to a clone with a tattooed face. He punched in a few codes and whistled when everything was packed. The droids pushed anti-grav palettes towards the lifts. Sotna walked towards a speeder and gestured for the five new guys to follow. A few brothers from her entourage went with them.  
  
“You have like a…government? Why?” Fiver scratched his head. Brothers had always had low opinions of bureaucracy, because all it ever seemed to do was hinder them. They had always idealized being out from under rules.  
  
Sotna shook her head a little and twitched her lekku rather succinctly, “Someone’s gotta do it. Not everyone respects everyone else like they should.”  
  
One of the other brothers with them in the speeder piped up, “We can’t just be trusted to conduct ourselves without rules. Gotta have checks and balances. Designate responsibilities. So we divide up who gets to say about what.”  
  
“He didn’t ask HOW we have a government. He asked why,” Sotna looked like she was out of patience with people who were stupider than her, “Well, just one example, people say humanoids are born helpless. But we know, nobody is born to feel helpless. Even a baby can cry to ask for help, that’s a survival skill. They somehow know they should expect to be understood. There were lots of stories that even animals understood their distress and protected or even nursed children who were left in the wilderness. So the communication was clear. People have to learn from experience that nobody cares about them and it’s a bad thing if they do. If a child can be deliberately ignored to death by its own, should that kind of power differential be allowed? No, someone’s gotta do something to keep things more fair. The answer is the government. Watch your steering,” The last part he’d said to the brother, who was flying the speeder.  
  
Sotna glared at the guys, daring them to disrespect her.  
  
“Checks and balances. Animals nursing children. Got it,” Fiver answered.  
  
Niner ignored him, “But aren’t we working around the bureaucracy? Cody just made a call and said to get us set up.”  
  
Sotna did a good job of hiding her frustration, “It’s a work in progress.”  
  
“No. It is a better way of doing things. Different from what the Emperor got,” another brother explained.  
  
Niner thought at least it was better than what brothers had had. Some of their upbringing had been barely more than animal husbandry. Nobody had ever given a shit when they cried.  
  
“Call it what you want, so far it works. Cody has given us the best shot anybody ever has of not being exterminated,” a third brother added.  
  
Niner looked around the jungle road they were taking as they came around a bend.  
  
“How many people live here?” Fiver asked.  
  
“We’re up to two million. But that’s just the core colony,” Sotna pointed for them to look at the way ahead.  
  
“So he’s in charge here, the Commander?” Fiver sounded like he was doing an interview.  
  
Sotna cocked an eyebrow for a second, “Nah, we elected our ruler by popular vote. His wife’s queen.”  
  
“How is that checks and balances?” Niner laughed.  
  
“They’ve been successful working together. People know that when we offer security, it means more than troops and hardware, we keep them fed and compensate them if they get robbed or have a disaster. The queen has been asked to represent the interests of dozens of worlds in the area and she’s put the Commander in charge of protecting them. We know he knows how to do that.” When she said it one of the clones put his palm up and she slapped it.  
  
The vehicles drove over a rise in the road, Niner could see the valley below, a volcanic krater lake surrounded by mountains, with a city clinging to one side of the slope. It was lit up in the twilight, reflecting and twinkling on the lake’s surface.  
  
It was incredible enough to bring tears to Niner’s eyes, “A clone homeland?”  
  
“Welcome,” Sotna finally softened at seeing his emotion.


	3. Detainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregor's not sure why he's being followed.

Seelos  
  
Gregor woke up in his bed. He had been sleeping in the walker like he was told because he didn’t want to make Wolffe mad after his ‘little stunt’, as Wolffe called it. That morning he woke up what he thought was late. Wolffe was already driving. He was playing music and singing to himself. Gregor grabbed some joopa jerky and a cup of caf.  
  
Wolffe had been on edge the last few days. This morning, he was surprisingly chipper. “Do you have anything to take over to the laundromat?” Wolffe asked Gregor. “If you do, toss them in the bag,” he indicated where it was sitting on the floor. “We’re going to try going to K-Town today.”  
  
Gregor stumbled to his chair and slumped in it. “Well, I can’t go about in my skivvies in K-Town, can I? What do you do there while you wash your pants?” Gregor looked suspicious.  
  
Wolffe looked disappointed. He had probably explained this before, “You can’t guess?”  
  
Gregor squinted, “Have you been banging the lady who rents out her natty old washing machines?”  
  
Wolffe looked relieved, “Yes. For like five years.”  
  
“She doesn’t like me. She’s mean,” Gregor said, although he didn’t know why. He had less of a filter the older he got. Most brothers never did have much of one.  
  
Wolffe cocked an eyebrow, “She bought you ice cream one time.”  
  
Gregor shook his head, “No way, you’re thinking of another one of your cheap chippies. Because I absolutely would have remembered that. I remember all the stuff I’ve eaten, remember?”  
  
“So you keep insisting,” Wolffe switched on the sound recorder.  
  
Gregor held up one finger, “No, it’s true. Ask me about anything you know I ate.”  
  
Wolffe thought for a moment, “The animal feed at Cut’s farm.”  
  
Gregor didn’t hesitate, “Tasted like grass and grain, but crunchy like a dry pellet. No salt at all, so kind of bland.”  
  
Wolffe smiled asymmetrically, “Bantha milk cheese?”  
  
Gregor pointed emphatically, “Pungent with just a hint of bitter aftertaste. I got wicked gas after.”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” Wolffe chuckled, “Aiwha?”  
  
“What’s that?” Gregor wrinkled his nose.  
  
Wolffe looked concerned, “Those flying whales.”  
  
“A flying whale? You’re taking the piss,” Gregor honestly thought he was joking. “How’s that work, are they full of helium? Do they dive down and breathe water through blowholes in their stomachs?”  
  
Wolffe sounded a little strained, “They were the most prominent fauna on our home world.”  
  
Gregor shook his head as if it was a joke, “Goofy.”  
  
Wolffe rubbed his head, “You’re goofy. But you know what, I think you’re right, she never bought you anything. I must have been thinking of another girl.”  
  
“My point is, I think I would have remembered if I’d ever tasted ice cream on Seelos, so your story reeks of falsehood. Also, why IS there no ice cream on Seelos?” Gregor smirked.  
  
“Just because we’ve never seen any doesn’t mean it ain’t here. I’ll keep an eye out.” Wolffe winked.  
  
Gregor swore all day he could see dark clouds on the horizon, but he thought it must be a mirage. Or a dust storm that was high enough that you didn’t know if it was on the surface or in the sky.  
  
For the first time since Rex left, Wolffe and Gregor were headed to Kwymartown, the largest settlement on Seelos. They used to roll through once every few months. Most people on the planet did as well. Isolated watering holes on remote planets with low populations tended to be that way. Most people on Seelos didn’t have a set home, so Kwymartown was a hub for communications to and from the world. You might not see people yourself for months, or years or ever again. Yet everybody seemed to be up to date on what little news there was.  
  
Gregor and Wolffe had been avoiding K-Town for a while because they wanted to be sure nobody was looking for their walker. Technically, since the Imperials had abandoned the AT-AT, Gregor and Wolffe had salvage rights. But it didn’t do to have anything flashy to advertise on Seelos. Theft was so rampant. It wasn’t that there weren’t police, it’s just that the police had weapons, so they would confiscate anything they wanted. Involving them meant that you probably wouldn’t recover your property and you might stand to lose more. The only thing you might hope for was that the police would find the thief and beat them. For some people, that was satisfaction enough.  
  
Gregor and Wolffe got to the outskirts of K-town at dusk and pulled up to the plasma fence at Tunko Tonka’s salvage yard. Wolffe rang the outer bell and the mechanical eyeball extended and chattered in Toydarian. Wolffe chattered back, but it was mostly nonsense words he was making up as he went along. The gate within the perimeter fence slid open and Tunko the Toydarian was there to lower the plasma fencing for them to get in. Inside the perimeter were a series of heavy duty tents in use as maintenance bays. Wolffe and Gregor drove the walker into one.  
  
Tunko ran the salvage yard, just over the first crest of dunes north of K-town. He would buy the joopa and whatever else they could scavenge that was worth anything in exchange for wupiupis. Hutt currency was what passed locally. Tunko never asked questions about where people were from or why they were choosing to live the way they were. He was less of a sleaze than most people around. The clones could depend on him to pass along most of the things that were sent for them from off world. Healing herbs from Saleucami. Small gifts from their niece and nephew on Coruscant. Tunko only stole a portion of the herbs. Rex always said he was glad their niece never sent pictures of herself though.  
  
Tunko flew out, flapping his leathery wings, he admired the walker, “I was wondering when you three would come through again. Hey, where’s Beardy?” Tunko referred to the brothers as ‘Beardy’, ‘Winky’, and ‘Razor’. Wolffe had been offended that Gregor had gotten the ‘cool name’.  
  
Wolffe clapped hands with Tonka, “Beardy’s dead.”  
  
Gregor and Wolffe had just been talking about this as they were driving up. Gregor kept to the script, “He died of dysentery. It was very painful. Explosive diarrhea, and nothing to wipe with but salt sand.”  
  
Wolffe joined in, laughing, “There was no saving him.”  
  
Tunko looked wary, “It wasn’t from any of the joopa you’re bringing in?”  
  
Gregor shook his head, “Raw vegetables.”  
  
“So I guess I don’t have to ask where you got the nice new ride,” Tunko laughed.  
  
Wolffe did his best to look unconcerned, “Yeah, we found it in the salt wastes out of fuel. Did you guys see who might have left it?”  
  
Tunko nodded, “A few months ago this prick with the massive sideburns stormed into town alongside two minions in Imperial armor pushing a speeder bike that ran out of fuel. They demanded to be given access to communications equipment. Sideburns called home and they were picked up in an hour.”  
  
Woflfe nodded, “Well, just give me a heads up if they come back again. I’d rather not have the hassle.”  
  
Tunko swatted at his flies, “Not since then. I of course scavenged their bike immediately. It’s brand karking new and they just left it. I had half a mind to shoot down their shuttle. But they didn’t rob us like those other guys.”  
  
Wolffe was laughing, but his eyes weren’t, “Other guys? Do tell."  
  
“Well a while after sideburns, a couple more Imperials came through,” Tunko scratched an ear with his foot.  
  
Seelos was pretty remote. The purported government, the Galactic Empire, was a rare animal in those parts.  
  
“Two guys in uniform came to the saloon saying they were doing a routine check of the system. They went to the police dropping the name of Admiral Brom Titus, as if anyone’s supposed to know who that is. I guess they worked for him,” Tunko packed a pipe with some of Cut’s produce.  
  
Gregor looked around like he was bored. Wolffe shrugged.  
  
“They were asking about someone called a ‘Seventy-Five-Sixty-Seven’,” Tunko asked. “Does that mean anything to you?”  
  
“Uh…no ,” Wolffe was a terrible liar.  
  
Gregor winced internally. He tried to make it look like he just had bad gas.  
  
Wolffe recovered, “Maybe it’s some kind of prisoner number. Most joints tattoo you. On some worlds it’s a sign of status to have multiple ones. Like badass credibility,” Wolffe was sweating a little. “It’s also a way of recognizing people you might have served with, the different facilities have different number prefixes.”  
  
Gregor wasn’t sure how much of that was true and how much Wolffe had made up. He knew Tunko wouldn’t know either.  
  
“That makes sense,” Tunko nodded. He was probably thinking the information would be useful if he came across the guy. He could ace everybody else out of the bounty if he saw this ‘Seventy-Five-Sixty-Seven’ tattoo. Then he’d find himself fixated on this singular detail, tattoos. He’d be looking for them on everyone he met.  
  
Gregor smirked. He loved watching Wolffe do this kind of thing to people.  
  
Tunko offered more information willingly, “They said he was dangerous, that he had escaped Imperial custody with the help of radical Force terrorists and that they might have fled here. As if we’ve ever had Force wielders here. The police just used it as a pretext for them to search everyone and take all our ‘contraband’ valuables at gunpoint. They gave the Imperials their share. I hate those karking Imperial bastards,” Tunko drew on the pipe and exhaled pink smoke.  
  
The singular hatred for the Empire that everyone on Seelos harbored was one of the reasons it was so safe. Having a common enemy hatches a kind of loyalty so someone used to say. Gregor wasn’t sure who had said it, though.  
  
“Hey, just in case we run into anybody, did these individuals leave any documentation?” Wolffe asked casually. “Any…pictures of this Seventy-Nine-Aught-Two,” Wolffe deliberately misremembered the number. He took a hit and passed the pipe to Gregor. Their eyes met for a second.  
  
Tunko switched on his holo-viewer and showed them the wanted poster the Imperial had given him to display. They had an actual holo-still of ‘Kanan Jarrus’ from a recent sighting. They had artists’ renderings of what Rex and Ahsoka would look like with age progression. Ahsoka was wearing the same tube top from the war with this weird little skirt and Rex was somehow a random old white guy with a big beard.  
  
Wolffe nodded slightly, “Nope, I’ve never met any of those people…here.” As long as Wolffe told the truth to the letter, he was safe from his sweaty liar tells. “High bounty, though. I should think everybody’s looking for them now, just in case they can cash in.”  
  
\--  
  
Wolffe and Gregor used Tunko’s outdoor shower facilities. Just a kind of booth with a hose that ran up from the oasis. When they were dried off and dressed, Wolffe sprayed them each with pungent deodorant and they were ready to walk the road into town. Moisture vaporators and power generators lined either side of the beaten path.  
  
“Hey Wolffe?” Gregor said finally, when they were safely distant from Tunko’s fence.  
  
“Yeah?” Wolffe ran his hand over his damp hair. It was as thick as ever and gray.  
  
“I didn’t want to say anything back there, but was that poster bad news? I don’t think anybody recognized Rex from that. So that’d be it, right? They’ve seen Seelos. Nothing for them here. They’ll go away. Then maybe someday, it would be safe for Rex to come back here, because they would have already looked. It would then be the last place they’d suspect,” Gregor had spent some time working this out. But he admitted it had sounded more hopeful when he’d said it to himself.  
  
Gregor couldn’t remember again why Rex had left. He seemed to recall something about messages from someone called 'Ahsoka' that Wolffe had hidden. Rex was really mad when he found out. It was right after that that Rex left. Gregor wondered sometimes whether that meant that it was Wolffe’s fault that they weren’t together any more. Gregor didn’t think that it was fair that he didn’t have his brother because the two of them couldn’t get along. But he didn’t dare say that. Wolffe was all he had left and he couldn’t risk getting on his bad side.  
  
“Well, maybe, that’s a good thought.” Wolffe didn’t have the heart to tell Gregor what he thought was the truth. It would be dangerous for Rex to come around if the planet was being monitored. The Imperial probes were probably already there. Wolffe figured they’d be fine as long as they remained insignificant, but any further involvement with old Seventy-Five-Sixty-Seven and that was probably it for them. Wolffe tried to spare Gregor his own pessimism, though. If Gregor wanted to be hopeful, he was allowed.  
  
\--  
  
Kwymartown was a village built around a small oasis. There was a ring of trees around the green water, with stands of grasses and other plants. The body of water lay in the center of the depression and rolling white sands extended in every direction forming a low funnel. The structures of the town ran roughly in concentric circles out from the water. The road from Tunko’s required cresting a dune and descending through the town. Most of the businesses were on the waterfront at the center.  
  
“I’m gonna go to the saloon and get a moderately priced prostitute and a proper steak,” Gregor rubbed his hands together.  
  
“Gregor, we eat Joopa almost every day of the year, three meals a day. And you want to eat it when there are other things available?” Wolffe was offended. Wolffe recognized it as a veiled criticism of his cooking.  
  
“Well, I guess I could get something else, if you feel so passionately about food you won’t even be eating,” Gregor rolled his eyes.  
  
Wolffe expelled air out his nostrils in a way that meant he relented, “Fine. You can eat what you want. I’ve got a date.” He held up the laundry sack like Gregor was supposed to know what that meant.  
  
“I thought you were going to help me with the fish flakes,” Gregor inexplicably remembered this minute detail from weeks ago that Wolffe had forgotten.  
  
“We’ll stay overnight at the saloon, I’ll take you there tomorrow. There’ll be time before we head back out,” Wolffe clapped his hands together and rubbed them to imitate Gregor. He walked over to the first kiosk on the way into town. Wolffe bought an R2 sized jar of pills and some water from the spigot to fill his canteen. He opened the bottle and handed Gregor two tablets.  
  
“So what are you having for dinner?” Gregor asked him. Then he waved at someone he thought was an acquaintance. The guy looked confused. Gregor let it go. It was his problem.  
  
Wolffe patted Gregor on the back, “A variety of mollusk.”  
  
Gregor wrinkled his nose, “Seafood seems like it’d be really dodgy here. Is it canned? On Abafar we only had canned.”  
  
Wolffe laughed to himself, “I think tonight it will be stuffed.”  
  
“Oooooooooooh, this is a crude metaphor. Good one, you had me going. You’re good at crude metaphors,” Gregor said flatly to indicate sarcasm. Gregor took a pain pill and sipped water.  
  
“Funny,” Wolffe winked at him. He held the pill bottle back. He was rationing Gregor strictly after his little stunt. Wolffe wouldn’t let the bottle out of his possession. He put it in the laundry sack, swung that over his shoulder and walked up the street rattling like one of those percussion instruments filled with beans. He dawdled, experimenting with different step patterns to shake out different rhythms.  
  
Gregor went up to the saloon where you could rent rooms upstairs. He went inside and sat at the bar to wait for a girl to be available. He ordered his steak for afterwards and decided to paint while he waited. He rifled his messenger bag until he found a brush, his sketch pad and a bottle of ink. He attempted to paint the window above the entrance, which he saw reflected in the bar mirror.  
  
Therefore, Gregor had seen the robbers enter before anyone else had been looking at the entrance portal. Without hesitation, he kicked a bar stool backwards with such precision that he struck the lead robber right in the bucket. The robber was knocked backwards and his blaster fired at the ceiling shattering a lighting fixture. Before the fixture had fallen, Gregor turned and threw another bar stool horizontally against the shins of the next two bandits, knocking them clean off their feet and onto their faces.  
  
The local policing squad rushed in to tell everyone to calm down, they could handle it. They aimed their weapons at everyone in the bar to keep them at bay. They took the robbers’ weapons. They rifled Gregor’s bag to see if he had any valuables. He didn’t have his blaster because Wolffe wasn’t allowing him to have it when he was alone after his little stunt. So, Gregor had nothing to confiscate. He assumed he was under arrest, so he followed the police and the prisoners, but as per Wolffe’s constant advice about dealing with the authorities, Gregor said nothing until his legal counsel arrived. Except one thing.  
  
“Sparky!” Gregor shouted at the droid bartender, whose name was not Sparky, “Sparky! Save me my steak!”  
  
“Sure thing!” it inflected back electronically.  
  
The robbers were thrown in the brig with some other prisoners to wait for whatever criminal gang owned them to come and pay the bribe to collect them. Gregor sat down in the familiar waiting area. He couldn’t remember the exact number of times he’d been there, but there were always a few people sitting around waiting to be allowed to go. He was promptly forgotten about. He wasn’t under arrest, but he forgot that. This happened to him sometimes, but Wolffe always found him sooner or later and it was a safe place to wait. Gregor thought someone would eventually tell him what he was waiting for. In the meantime, Gregor returned to his painting. He painted little caricatures of the other beings waiting.  
  
After a while, he could sense he was being watched back.  
  
The youngster in the corner was looking at him, dressed, complete with sun hat and all-purpose poncho, like a typical Outer Rim farm yokel. Or a costume version of it. The small person took off the hat.  
  
“You’re here!” she whispered. Blonde hair caught the light. Then a pretty face. She came over, dropped her kitpack on the floor and fell into Gregor’s arms.  
  
Gregor supposed her use of the second person meant that she was talking to him, but he got the sense she knew to whom ‘you’ referred. That confused Gregor, since he wasn’t sure he did. Gregor tried the first thing that came into his mind, “I am here, yes indeed.” That much, at least, was true.  
  
“It took me a while to recognize you without the beard. They’ve detained me. Can you get me out of here?” she looked around to see if anyone was watching them.  
  
“I…can do that, yes,” Gregor told her. “If it would help.”  
  
She stood up and took Gregor’s hand and helped him up, putting her kitpack back on with a shrug.  
  
Gregor knew this could be a scam. People pretended to know people all the time to get close enough to steal their valuables. Pretty young girls had an advantage in that regard, since people wanted to let them close.  
  
But the police detaining people was also a scam. Most newbies to K-town didn’t know that. Local authorities would arrest or detain people who came to Seelos and didn’t have the money to pay them a bribe. The police would then wait for someone to come and find the people, someone who could pay. This police force was one that the people of Kwymartown had elected in order to defend them from the rampant theft, so naturally nobody minded if this side hustle only affected those from off world. The police kept the bribes and bought more weapons.  
  
Naturally, Wolffe, Rex, and Gregor didn’t like the idea of people being detained against their wills. So, when they had opportunity, they had a number of plans in place.  
  
Gregor had an objective. Like a switch flicking on in his head, he shifted to mission mode.  
  
After considering for a brief moment, Gregor started speaking in a loud voice, “Oh! YOU’RE my mail order bride? Because I just KNEW it was possible you got held up at customs,” he winked at her exaggeratedly to indicate that they were in conspiracy.  
  
The girl looked unsure as to what they were conspiring about.  
  
“How long have you been in here, my dear?” Gregor asked, putting away his things in his messenger bag.  
  
“Three days,” she looked like she didn’t know why he was shouting. She looked tired and continued in a normal speaking voice. “No food, no water. I had to be escorted to the refresher.”  
  
“I’m so sorry it took so long, like I said, I wasn’t sure you were coming,” Gregor casually walked over to the desk bureaucrat. “Uh…yes,” Gregor was speaking an octave higher than normal. “I would like to pay the bail on this woman,” Gregor bent down and took out a stash of wupiupi from his boot.  
  
It wasn’t much, but the policeman didn’t complain. Cash was cash. The police took the money and didn’t ask questions. That was why the police corruption was dangerous. The police didn’t do any checks about the people who paid for their detainees or what was done with them afterwards.  
  
Gregor continued in the ‘respectable voice’, “Has she been convicted of anything?”  
  
“She didn’t have the proper travel papers,” the guard shrugged, indicating a pair of wrist guards and two pistols. “Do you want her weapons back? You don’t want to get shot, now.”  
  
“Oh no sir, I trust her implicitly, this is love,” Gregor said.  
  
The girl looked confused.  
  
Gregor tried to sound wistful, “Yes, well, I was never a greedy guy, I never envisioned myself as needing a harem. I still believe in true love. People say that mail order brides just want to use you and will club you over the head with a blunt instrument at first chance they get, leaving with your vehicle, all your cash, and your pet. Believe me, it hurts when that happens. You think I’d have learned by now, but I’m optimistic that number seven here will be different.”  
  
The girl smiled and affected a ridiculous accent, “Yes, I cook for you. Definitely without poison.”  
  
The policeman returned the girl’s things, shaking his head. Gregor admired the equipment. He hadn’t seen new weapons in a while.  
  
Once they were given the all clear, Gregor took the girl by the hand and strode out of the sheriff’s office with her. Gregor looked around to see if they were far enough away, then he dropped her hand, “Okay, they don’t need you for anything. So you can just go find a transport and say you want to go back where you came from. No one will ask questions about why you left me,” he turned and tried to walk away.  
  
“Leave you? No, I came here to find you,” she trotted to keep up.  
  
Gregor stopped in his tracks. She crashed into his back and stumbled back a little. He turned. She recovered and smiled.  
  
“Find me? Okay, is this some kind of grift?” Gregor wondered for a moment if he might have really ordered a mail order bride. But he thought he would have remembered that. It wasn’t like he had much chance to drunk shop on the holo-net anymore, Wolffe was in charge of communications. Gregor wondered if Wolffe had ordered a woman. But he didn’t drink, so it wasn’t likely.  
  
“Are we going to go to the Rebellion? Uncle, I think my world is about to be attacked, we need help!” her eyes grew wide in frustration.  
  
Gregor paused. ‘The Rebellion’. That was supposed to mean something to him, he knew. “Uhhhhh, who said anything about uh…’That Thing’.”  
  
“That what?” she asked.  
  
Gregor mouthed, ‘The Rebellion’.  
  
She nodded, “Oh, ‘That Thing’,” she looked around for cameras and probe droids.  
  
Gregor walked back towards the saloon. Hopefully his steak was still there.  
  
He heard the footsteps as she caught up with him.  
  
“So, when do we leave?” she held the straps of the pack like a child.  
  
“I don’t want any trouble, but I’m not asking anything in return,” Gregor felt it was best he be clear, “You’re free to go.”  
  
“Uncle? Wait…you’re not him…” she looked so innocent as it dawned on her, “Is…is he not here right now?”  
  
Gregor was suddenly very frustrated because he didn’t know what she was talking about and he didn’t know whether he should. He had to find Wolffe, fast.  
  
He kept a bit of distance between himself and her, “Look, I’m sorry if you trusted me under false pretenses. I didn’t intend for any confusion. I am who I have always been. Sometimes that includes being ‘him’, just as I am also occasionally ‘he’ and ‘I’, depending of course, on your point of view,” he scratched his head, “Or mine. But I get the distinct sense that the ‘him’ to which you refer…is not ‘me’, at least not in the specific sense of the word as it relates to my personal self.”  
  
She blinked at him a few times.  
  
“As for my personal he, self, and I, that is at your service, no matter which brother you might have confused me for. In any case, I am Gregor,” he put his open palm against his chest and bowed his head a little. Then he put out his hand, palm up.  
  
She slapped it without hesitation. “Alis Grady,” she smiled and held out her hand. Gregor shook it.  
  
“I need to find ‘That Guy’ then,” she said as if that was supposed to be clear.  
  
Gregor stared confusedly.  
  
“With ‘That Thing’?” she did air quotes.  
  
“Oooooooooooh, ‘The Thiiiiiiiing’. Right,” Gregor was a little worried this wouldn’t be good news, “Um, listen, you haven’t been going around asking about ‘The Thing’ to anyone have you?”  
  
She shook her head, “What? No.”  
  
Gregor smelled his shirt. It needed a wash, “What did you say you were doing here?”  
  
“The truth! Looking for my uncle. He always talked about Seelos, I thought it was where he lived. I got off at the spaceport. The police said I didn’t have a travel permit from my homeworld, so they would contact them and arrange for deportation. I saw you and…Maybe you can help me. Are there many of you on the planet?”  
  
Gregor got confused as to who ‘you’ was, and he didn’t want to start a whole thing again. So he waved his hand a little, “Too many questions. How do I know you aren’t here looking to capture someone, because you think I might know where they are?”  
  
“Huh? No look, this amulet was his,” she pointed at a necklace with some kind of tooth and some beads.  
  
“I don’t recognize that,” Gregor shrugged. “Not all clones know each other, you know. Wait, I got this, only two of my brothers know I’m here. And one has been with me this whole time. Therefore you thought I was the other guy. You thought I was ‘That Guy’? Wow. I’m flattered.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Any brother knows he’s the best looking one,” Gregor informed her. She and Gregor walked side by side towards the laundromat.


End file.
